Suitability
by antioxidants help your heart
Summary: Nurse Crane is an unlikely fairy godmother. Sister Julienne moves in mysterious ways. It is the beginning, perhaps, of a beautiful friendship. Spoilers through 5.01.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Because both Sister Julienne and Nurse Crane belong to the race that knows Joseph._

* * *

Watching Patsy in the weeks after the Delia's injury, a less observant person might have assumed that, while she was certainly shaken by her friend's accident, she recovered as quickly as might have been expected and was back to normal within a week or two. Nurse Crane is no such person.

A nurse, she has always maintained, has to be aware of the slightest changes in a patient. Also, though she would never go so far as to get involved in affairs that were none of her business, she does not deny that she too has a touch of that curiosity that afflicts all humans.

So Phyllis Crane is perturbed to notice the circles under Patsy's eyes that never quite seemed to disappear, the light under the bathroom door late some nights when the girls not on call should have been sleeping, and the way the communal hot-water bottle disappears more evenings than not, leaving Barbara, who is particularly prone to _that sort_ of cramps, curled up on the lino two nights in a row.

Nurse Crane might be a spinster, but she knows what is what. She'd seen the affection between Patsy and that Busby girl and had come to her own conclusions. It is highly improper, and Phyllis has never held with that sort of thing. But she leaves well enough alone.

She has a slight fondness for Nurse Mount, whose brisk practicality reminded her of herself at that age, and Nurse Busby seemed a practical, jolly sort.

Anyway, they were both capable nurses, with much to recommend them and the whole affair (or whatever it was) was none of her business.

And what with the accident, the whole matter seemed settled anyway, for better or for worse.

"And that poor woman, her husband just lying there. Doesn't even recognize her or the children. A brain tumour. She's so brave about it though, never let's on …" Barbara describes her latest district case with typical breathlessness as she places instruments in the autoclave. Trixie nods and looks shocked and sympathetic at appropriate points as Barbara continues.

God love her. She did mean well, but sometimes Nurse Gilbert could be a bit of a chatterbox. Nurse Crane continues her adjustments to the roster, but keeps a sharp eye on Patsy, who has gone stiff and monosyllabic as she packs her case.

"I mean, can you imagine, loving someone like that, only to have them not recognize you? Everyone says they were the kind of couple that made you believe in true love." Barbara sighs. "I suppose you do get this sort of thing in older patients. Dementia and the like." She pauses awkwardly and glances about, as if to reassure herself that Sister Monica Joan is not in attendance. "But they're _so_ young …"

She is interrupted by the crash of a tray of clamps hitting the floor. Patsy seems surprised by her own uncharacteristic clumsiness and it takes her a moment to bend to pick them up.

"Are you all right, Patsy?" asks Trixie.

Is Nurse Crane the only one who thinks she takes a moment too long to reply?

"Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you."

 _Come on, kid. Pull it together. You'll get yourself caught at this rate._ If Phyllis were the type for that sort of thing, she might have said she felt a surge of maternal protectiveness.

There is a sharp intake of breath beside her and Phyllis turns to see Sister Julienne, logbook in hand, looking at her with an intense, unreadable expression.

Had she said that aloud? Judging by Sister Julienne's expression, yes. How much had Sister Julienne observed? How much had she put together on her own? How much had she just given away? Hard to say.

She is furious with herself for putting the girl in danger.

The Sister's eyes turn to Patsy as she stands with the tray and smoothes her skirt. Seeing her lips purse slightly with thought, perhaps to speak, Phyllis intervenes as smoothly as she can.

"Ah, Sister," she says stridently. "Just the person I was hoping to see. Perhaps we might speak in your office?"

* * *

Opening the door to her office, Sister Julienne allows Phyllis to enter before her.

"Have a seat, Nurse Crane." Looking at the teapot sitting on the desk she adds, "I'm afraid the tea will be cold by now."

Phyllis gathers herself, crosses to the chair and sits, legs crossed primly, back ramrod straight.

She doesn't know exactly why she has come over all protective of Nurse Mount, but she has always trusted her instincts, so she stays the course. "Now, about our plans for district next week," she begins, all business and misdirection, as the nun seats herself behind her desk. "I was thinking we could try something new." This is not untrue, though she hadn't been planning to mention her ideas as yet.

Sister Julienne raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "You wished to speak to me about your plans for district." It isn't a question, and her icy tone conveys what she thinks of being played for a fool.

Phyllis clasps her hands, momentarily ruffled. "Well, no, not exactly. It just seemed …"

"That it would distract me from whatever you thought I might have observed a moment ago?"

Hell's teeth. Has she really been that transparent? Well, no use for it then. Admit only the necessary.

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"Your concern for Nurse Mount does you credit."

"She's a good lass." Phyllis says neutrally, regaining composure. She means it, too.

"That she is. And I know she has been struggling since Nurse Busby's accident."

The nun is fishing and Phyllis Crane is not about to give her a bite.

"It was a great shock to all of us – and they were such friends," she answers as easily as she an.

"Yes." The word is weighty and Sister Julienne's face is knowing. The nun waits expectantly, but Phyllis holds out.

The silence stretches dangerously. Sister Julienne sighs and places her hands on the desk.

"Nurse Crane. We are neither of us fools. If what you suspect – what we suspect is true, she would not be the first," she says, holding Phyllis' gaze. "And I daresay, she will not be the last, either."

Phyllis waits to see where this is going. No point jumping in before absolutely necessary and giving the game away.

"She would be in a very difficult position," continues the nun carefully. "She would have to be extremely careful. The consequences of discovery would be devastating. And of course, now, she would be very alone." The last is spoken very gently.

Phyllis weighs her words. "You'd seem to have given this some thought."

The Sister shakes her head slightly in exasperation. "You wish to protect her. And you have supposed correctly, that I would not, could not condone such a … a very close friendship, if I knew it to exist."

"Would you condemn it?" The question is out of her mouth before she can stop it.

The Sister is silent a long moment. Softening slightly, she finally responds, "I have worked in Poplar long enough to know that love has many faces." After a moment she continues in a brisker tone, "Were I to know, officially, of such a thing, I would be required, of course, to … take certain steps. But I have always found Nurse Mount thoroughly inscrutable, and as such, I am certain that no such … rumours will ever reach my ears." She rises from behind her desk, the dismissal clear.

Phyllis ignores it. "She's a good lass," she repeats, "and a better midwife."

Sister Julienne smiles. "I am well aware of that, Nurse Crane. Now unless you do want to talk about your ideas for the district roster?"

* * *

Over the weeks that followed, Phyllis finds that the fierce protectiveness for Nurse Mount she had discovered in Sister Julienne's office is unabated. Not that Nurse Mount has ever invited such a feeling or been particularly gracious at accepting help from others. Still, Phyllis tries to do what she can for the girl.

Put her on the nightshift less, for one. Not favouritism, just good sense, when the girl was already so worn out. No use having her fall ill to boot.

Makes a point of mentioning that Nurse Busby now and again, so that Patsy has an excuse to speak of her.

Maybe praises her a bit more as well. More than once, Patsy is surprised to be the recipient of a barley sugar, a gesture of approval usually reserved for Barbara and suitably deserving plucky children.

If Sister Julienne notices her efforts or even remembers their conversation, she gives no sign of it.

One evening Phyllis catches her watching Nurse Mount with an expression bordering on concern as the girl deftly and brightly declines Trixie's invitation to go dancing. The expression is fleeting and Phyllis wonders if she's imagined it. Or perhaps Sister Julienne spends so much time worried about others, that her face assumes that look out of habit. So to speak.

"Have you heard the news?" This is Barbara, rushing in from rounds to find Phyllis engrossed in her Rolodex.

"Hmm?" The lass doesn't need much encouragement and Phyllis is certain she's misplaced an address.

"Delia – that is Nurse Busby – and her mother are in London."

This piques Phyllis interest, though she doesn't look up from her Rolodex. "I'm glad to hear she's well enough for the journey."

"She is! She's gotten the all clear, I think. From the London." Barbara still refers to the local hospital with a hint of awe in her tone. Phyllis is certain that it's nothing being seconded to the hospital to a week wouldn't fix. "But I don't think she's staying long, from what Patsy says, her mother worries terribly and wants her back in Pembrokeshire. Not that you can blame her …"

"Will we be seeing the Busbies before their departure?" Phyllis asks, finally looking up to fix the young nurse with her full attention. The matter of the lost address can be sorted later.

"At the Easter lunch, I think."

Easter, Easter, Phyllis runs over the roster in her head, beginning to shift around names to give Nurse Mount the rest of the day off, if it was indeed to be her last chance to see Nurse Busby. If Sister Julienne and Sister Mary Cynthia … but no, Easter. Difficult. Probably a job best done with a pen and paper.

"I do hope we'll get to see them. Delia is such a nice girl. It's such a pity her mother won't let her stay."

"I'm sure Mrs Busby has her reasons," says a gentle voice from the doorway. "Still, as it is not entirely up to Mrs Busby to decide the her daughter's future, perhaps all hope is not, in fact, lost." On that cryptically optimistic note, Sister Julienne places two file folders in front of Phyllis. "For the district roster," she says simply.

Phyllis curses the worn leather shoes that make Sister Julienne quieter than a cat and quite as apt to turn up in unexpected places.

* * *

By the time Easter lunch rolls around, Phyllis has managed to get Nurse Mount the afternoon off to say goodbye to Delia. It requires some unwilling flexibility on the parts of Sister Winifred and Nurses Franklin and Gilbert, but it has been managed. And Phyllis isn't convinced that Barbara is anywhere near as disappointed at having to miss a Keep Fit class as she claims. Silver linings all around.

It is also Phyllis, who, as the girls are dressing for Easter, pulls the little green number from the back of Patsy's wardrobe and presses it into the redhead's hands with a raised eyebrow that had brooks no argument.

Trixie does the rest, "Oh, Patsy, you simply must! It's absolutely darling. And if we try something like this –" she pulls out a magazine to illustrate her point – "and what about that necklace with the flowers?"

That necklace with the flowers is tarnished, but it is nothing that a quick going over by Nurse Crane won't fix.

Nurse Phyllis Crane, playing fairy godmother to queers, she thinks to herself wryly as she polishes. But then she isn't playing fairy godmother to queers, she is playing fairy godmother to Nurse Mount, and that is not really the same thing at all.

For Nurse Mount's sake and for the sake of an Easter luncheon that has really every promise of being an utter disaster, she also (and this might be her greatest feat of all) keeps Sister Monica Joan away from the kitchen for two entire days, in hopes that the Easter spread promised by Sister Julienne might also include a little cake.

In the end, there is cake in excess, because the esteemed Mrs B, thinking along similar lines, baked some spares. But when Mrs Busby compliments Sister Julienne on her table, Phyllis can't help but preen a little bit.

"Family meals are very important at Nonnatus House, Mrs Busby," responds Sister Julienne, with a slight emphasis on the word "family", looking around the table at the gathering of nuns and midwives. On her mother's lap Angela Turner, with a toddler's impeccable timing, giggles. Her brother, very much the young man, looks at her reprovingly.

Phyllis' watches the youngsters while mulling over the slightly forced politeness of the nun's words. The woman is up to something.

She turns her attention to Mrs Busby as she explains the many deficiencies of the now-demolished Nurse's Home, noting how possessive she is of her daughter, how cowed that poor girl is, and how Nurse Mount practically deflates as the conversation continues.

Presiding at the head of the table, Sister Julienne seems entirely unperturbed, though Phyllis is certain none of this has escaped her either.

When Nurse Busby announces her intention to return to Wales, however, Sister Julienne is a picture of surprise and disappointment, "Really?"

"There's nowhere suitable for her to live, Sister. She's been so poorly," says Mrs Busby earnestly.

Without hesitation, Sister Julienne offers, "Your daughter is welcome to lodge here with us." A little too smooth, thinks Phyllis through her shock, and strongly suspects premeditation.

Mrs Busby's face is blank.

Phyllis, too, is a little stunned by the unexpected turn of events, but hurries to press Sister Julienne's advantage, "I think that's a most suitable suggestion."

A Mrs Busby might be able to get her way in _Pembrokeshire_ , but she would find Nonnatus women to be of a different caliber entirely.

Young Nurse Busby chooses that moment to find her backbone, "I think so, too!"

"I don't know," protests Mrs Busby feebly.

"Well, I do," says Sister Julienne authoritatively, and the matter is settled.

Looking at the open joy on Patsy and Delia's faces, Phyllis rather suspects she might have been outfairygodmothered.

* * *

Despite the apparent finality of the arrangements, Phyllis notices that Sister Julienne keeps a close eye on Mrs Busby for the remainder of the celebrations. Indeed, she remains at Mrs Busby's side for the entire parade and judging of the Easter bonnets. She stands next to her on the front stoop of Nonnatus House, effectively cutting her off from speaking to her daughter, who, Phyllis is happy to see, is off giggling with an equally delighted Patsy.

As the last of the children receive awards for their bonnets and Mrs Busby finishes telling an apparently attentive Sister Julienne another lengthy story about the superior Easter celebrations in the south of Wales, Phyllis decides the poor woman could use a breather. There is such a thing as taking martyrdom too far, even for a nun.

She turns and marches deliberately up the stairs to the two women. "I once took a weekend holiday in Tenby," she breaks into the conversation. "The view as one drives along the coastline is superb."

Sister Julienne glances at her questioningly as Phyllis places herself between the nun and Mrs Busby. "Sister, I think young Mr Hereward could use your assistance." The nun's face twitches slightly with amusement – Mr Hereward is being ably assisted by Barbara – but she gives a slight nod in return.

Turning to Mrs Busby, she says only, "If you'll excuse me, Mrs Busby, I feel I must go provide assistance."

"Of course, Sister, I understand," said Mrs Busby, who has only just been telling the Sister that she did think the Reverend was a bit on the young side for a cleric.

Phyllis is certain she hasn't imagined the short, grateful look Sister Julienne gives her as she bustles away.

The next day Phyllis finds Sister Julienne kneeling in the garden, her habit covered by a worn leather apron, dirt smearing her arms above her gloves and a neat pile of pulled weeds at her side.

"That was quite the risk you took yesterday," says Phyllis by way of making conversation. "Putting them under one roof."

"I seem to remember you saying you found it a most suitable idea," says Sister Julienne evenly, sitting back on her heels.

"And I do. Life has dealt those two girls rotten enough hands as it is." As she says it, Phyllis realizes she means what she said.

Sister Julienne seems to have already come to this conclusion because she only nods. "The world has been cruel to them. And will certainly be so again. Surely there is nothing wrong in easing what troubles we can."

"It's immoral," Phyllis points out. Might as well get everything out in the open. "And a sin, though that's more your area than mine."

"Mine is not to judge," says the Sister easily, reaching for her trowel again and putting an end to the conversation.

Phyllis watches her work for a moment, then pulls a small package out of her pocket. "Barley sugar, Sister?" she asks off-handedly, leaning down to proffer the sweet.

"That's very kind," says the nun gravely. She sticks the trowel firmly in the ground and pulls off her gloves to accept. "Thank you, Nurse Crane."

"Call me Phyllis, Sister," says Phyllis.

* * *

 _A/N: Dialogue from Easter entirely stolen from 5.08. All mistakes my own._


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: A coda, of sorts.)

* * *

For as long as she can remember, Sister Julienne has lived on the edges of things. From a childhood spent in far-flung reaches of the Empire to overseeing Nonnatus House, she has always been a little bit apart from the world. Though one need only to look at Nonnatus House to realize that it is possible to be both apart from and at the very center of a community.

Some nights, when the burdens of her office leave her sleepless, she stops a moment in the hallway on her way to the chapel and listens. If it is late, the only sounds are the snores of Sister Evangelina and Barbara, the protests of their overworked boiler and, perhaps, the ring of the telephone, quickly answered. "Nonnatus House, midwife speaking." No night watchman calling out "all's well" on the hour could have soothed her quite so effectively.

If the night is still young, there is the chatter of the nurses and the blare of their record player. She can never make out their words through the door, nor would she wish to, but she recognizes Barbara's long expositions, Trixie's bright interjections and the quieter comments from Patsy. On occasion their voices are joined by Nurse Crane's unmistakable timbre.

On some nights, nights that Sister Julienne dreads, there is only the sweet smell of Horlicks and a tense and pressing silence. On those nights, she pauses longer before the closed door and spends a moment in deep and urgent prayer before seeking comfort for herself in the chapel or in the fleeting respite of sleep.

That the nurses regularly and flagrantly disregard the Great Silence is no secret, nor is Sister Julienne unaware of the fact that they regularly smoke and drink in their rooms. The walls are not as thick as the nurses seem to believe and certain scents do linger. The Sisters often exchange amused glances as they pass to and from the washroom and hear the girls' laughter through the solid oak door. Sister Winifred has been known to perk up over the washbasin when someone puts on a record she likes and Sister Evangelina once even did what looked suspiciously like a salsa step in her bathrobe. On the other hand, Nurse Crane's period of Spanish ballads is a trial to them all and tonight there are long-suffering looks in the corridor when someone, probably Trixie, plays "Please Don't Tease" for the fifth night straight.

"If that girl isn't called out tomorrow night, I may be forced to 'give it to _her_ straight'", mutters Sister Evangelina darkly.

Sister Winifred, who rather likes Cliff Richard, makes to answer but is silenced when Sister Evangelina glances pointedly at her watch to indicate that the Great Silence has begun.

Sister Monica Joan, whose internal clock has purportedly been in misalignment with British Standard Time ever since they set the clocks forward before Easter and whose observance of the Great Silence had been inexact even before that calamity befell her, takes no notice and beams, "The setting sun, and music at the close, as last the taste of sweets, is sweetest last, writ in remembrance more than things long past."

Sister Evangelina's look is decidedly un-Christian.

* * *

"He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?"

Sister Julienne feels momentarily like Sister Monica Joan and is quite glad there is no one in eye or earshot to witness her reciting scripture to an empty hallway.

* * *

It has been a particularly long and trying morning and a glance at the pile of invoices on her desk convinces her that a cup of tea would be a justified indulgence. She is on the way to the kitchen, when Trixie's raised voice gives her pause.

"I don't see why Delia and Patsy have Friday afternoon off again. They had last Friday off as well and it's simply –"

"Simply," Nurse Crane's voice interrupts, "the way the schedule works out. It so happens that Nurse Mount has this Friday off. As to Nurse Busby, I assure you, Nurse Franklin, that I have no influence over the rota for Male Surgical."

In the hallway, Sister Julienne frowns. Nurse Crane has had a long and storied career – Sister Julienne should know, she checked the recommendations – and it is not inconceivable that she could, in fact, exercise some influence over decisions regarding the London's personnel, if she wanted to.

As Trixie leaves the kitchen looking distinctly unsatisfied, Sister Julienne enters. Settling the kettle on the hob, she remarks, "Do you know, the rota at the London and that of Nonnatus House must share a similar interval, as Nurses Busby and Mount have the same evenings off more often than not. Quite the coincidence."

Nurse Crane sips her tea, not quite hiding a smug smile. "Isn't it just?"

A week later, long after the beginning of the Silence and somewhat after midnight, Sister Julienne is in her office catching up on reports when she hears footsteps in the corridor. The steps pause outside her door and she hears Nurse Crane's distinctive harrumph of disapproval.

Sister Julienne waits for a knock, but it doesn't come. After a moment Nurse Crane's footsteps continue briskly towards the kitchen. But somehow the schedule works out such that Sister Julienne is last on the duty roster for the rest of the week.

* * *

The sharp rap at her office door does not come as a surprise. Over the months they've fallen into a bit of a routine and barring births, fires or stolen hubcaps, Nurse Crane is almost ostentatiously punctual. Knowing she is expected, she enters before Sister Julienne has said "come."

"I've brought you my petrol receipts and an account of my mileage for the week," Nurse Crane says unnecessarily, for this has become their Friday ritual.

Sister Julienne smiles and carefully caps her pen, raising her eyebrows when she sees the woman brings more than expenses.

"I have also," continues Nurse Crane, "brought cake, because I notice you were kept from your tea. Again." The tone is highly disapproving. "It is a Battenberg," she explains as she sets the cake and papers on the desk. "I had hoped to find a bit of the Victoria Sandwich, but Mrs B used Mrs Buckle's jam –" here she looks meaningfully at Sister Julienne, " – so you may draw your own conclusions as to its fate."

"Thank you, Nurse Crane," she says gracefully, choosing not to engage in yet another fruitless discussion of Sister Monica Joan's less endearing eccentricities, "that was very thoughtful of you."

"I thought," Nurse Crane fixes her with a hard stare, "I had told you to call me Phyllis."

"So you did," the nun sighs apologetically. "It seems old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

This is apparently accepted, because Nurse Crane – Phyllis – nods curtly and turns to go.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Sister Julienne calls after her, "how Nurse Busby is settling in."

"Quite well, Sister," Phyllis turns back towards her. "Quite well. I think I speak for all of us, when I say she is a most pleasant housemate."

Sister Julienne wonders if this means Phyllis' concerns about the somewhat irregular situation have been allayed. Trying a different tack, she comments off-handedly, "Nurse Mount is looking particularly well of late."

"She is indeed, Sister," says Phyllis evenly. Sister Julienne sees her smile slightly as she turns, finally, to leave.

* * *

That night, as Sister Julienne pads not to the chapel, but to her office and her bookkeeping, a new voice joins the muffled conversation. The nun smiles to herself at the distinct Welsh lilt and lingers a moment to hear, with no small satisfaction, the bright peal of Patsy's sudden laughter.


End file.
